


y(ours)

by ratbandaid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Prompt Fic, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25915363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbandaid/pseuds/ratbandaid
Summary: “You’re the one who started this.”“I didn’t start anything,” he says, and his chest burns with the panic that Felix is going to hate him, just like everyone else does in the end. “You did.”Felix whirls around to face Sylvain. There’s some kind of emotion that Sylvain can’t particularly identify in his eyes—something hurt, something angry, something defensive. “Bullshit,” he snarls. “We were having a nice time watching that movie, and you decided to go and say that stupid shit to me. For what? To piss me off?”Sylvain Jose Gautier is a lot of things—self-conscious, observant, understanding, sociable, friendly. Cautious, smart, self-preserving.He’s also impulsive, stupid, and self-destructive.“You didn’t have to respond.”Felix slams the bedroom door in his face.-----Based (rather loosely) on the following prompt: Character A and Character B break up, but they have a pet and neither of them want to give it up.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 114
Collections: Sylvix Squad Super Stories





	y(ours)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a very impulsive one-shot about some break-up angst since I like writing breakups! c: Sylvain and Felix might be a little out of character here; I think I made them a little softer/weaker(?) than they are in canon. Canonically, I feel that they'd be angrier (especially Felix) than they would be sad, but I like writing sad feelings. :^)
> 
> Sorry there isn't much of a focus on the cat or the boys arguing over the cat! I'm not really good at writing pets in a realistic way, and I wanted to focus more on Felix and Sylvain recovering, using the cat as like a starting point or sorts?
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

“Would it kill you to be a little more honest with me about your feelings?”

It’s just a playful remark, something said in passing while they were watching a show together on the couch. Okay, well, admittedly, it was half “playful remark” and half desperate plea.

During the past few weeks, Felix has been tense, angry, cold. He won’t tell Sylvain what’s wrong, instead giving him biting responses or none at all, flicking his gaze away with a sharp huff and a glare. Guilt and confusion have been prodding at Sylvain, but by far, the thing driving Sylvain insane the most is the fear that Felix is slowly falling out of love with him. Plainly put, he’s been in full-blown panic mode since this—but he’s been so careful not to show any sign of it to Felix, fearful it’ll scare him off even more.

So maybe that influenced the passive-aggressive, desperate tone in Sylvain’s words, but the playful intent was still there, he swears.

It’s just a playful remark, but it’s also the strike of a match against the matchbox, the flicker of a fire against a bundle of dry twigs. The second the words leave Sylvain’s mouth, the second that Felix’s expression twitches and twists into a scowl, he knows that he’s started a war.

Felix grabs the remote and shuts the TV off, snapping his attention to Sylvain with a burning look. “Would it kill _you_ to keep your nose in your own business?” Felix snaps at him. Sylvain winces a little at the edge to Felix’s voice. He can’t bring himself to tear his gaze from Felix’s fury, even though it hurts to see him so angry at him. “Or do I have to share everything about my life with you?”

 _Do you not want to_? Sylvain wants to ask, his heart sinking. His gaze briefly dances around their shared apartment. Their couch, their bed, their TV; their money, their clothes, their games; their childhood, their love, their cat. _Do you not want to share anything with me anymore, Felix?_

“I’m sorry.” Sylvain’s quick to withdraw. He’s quick to try and amend it, to appease Felix, to douse the growing tension in the room with his panicked apology. “I didn’t mean it like that, Felix. I just—”

“Save it.” Felix stands up from where they’re seated at the couch—where they once would lie pressed up against each other and watch shows together, they now sit at a distance apart. “I don’t want to hear your stupid apologies, especially when you’re a complete hypocrite.”

Sylvain blinks. “Hypocrite?” he echoes weakly.

“Practice what you preach, Sylvain.” The words are taunting, angry. Felix presses his lips into a sardonic smile, bitter and provocative. “You think I can’t tell that you’ve been acting different too? You treat me like I’m fragile—like I’m going to break if you say _anything_ to me.”

“That’s not true.” Sylvain stands too, trying to plead with Felix. Felix rolls his eyes and starts to walk towards the bedroom. Sylvain follows quickly, hot on his trail. “I don’t treat you like that.”

“Right. You only treat girls like that.” Felix reaches for the doorknob.

“Girls?” Sylvain furrows his brows. “Is that what this is about? Because I haven’t flirted with anyone since I got together with you.”

“I don’t know, Sylvain. _Is_ that what this is about? You’re the one who started this.” Felix opens the door to the bedroom and starts to step in.

Sylvain knows better. He knows better than to provoke Felix when he’s upset like this—because he _knows_ Felix and knows that it’ll only further upset him, that it’s probably what he wants, a reason to be angrier with Sylvain. He knows better than to say something because he _feels_ like it—because he _knows_ his big mouth only gets him in trouble, especially seeing that it’s what started this in the first place.

But he speaks up anyway.

“I didn’t start anything,” he says, and his chest burns with the panic that Felix is going to hate him, just like everyone else does in the end. “You did.”

Felix whirls around to face Sylvain. There’s some kind of emotion that Sylvain can’t particularly identify in his eyes—something hurt, something angry, something defensive. “Bullshit,” he snarls. “We were having a nice time watching that movie, and you decided to go and say that stupid shit to me. For what? To piss me off?”

 _Were we having a nice time?_ Sylvain wonders. _Because I don’t think I was. I can’t remember anything about that movie. I was too busy thinking about you—about the distance between us physically and emotionally, about your growing indifference towards me, about how much sleep I’ve lost trying to figure out what I did to upset you; I was too busy thinking about if you hated me now._

Sylvain Jose Gautier is a lot of things—self-conscious, observant, understanding, sociable, friendly. Cautious, smart, self-preserving.

He’s also impulsive, stupid, and self-destructive.

“You didn’t have to respond.”

Felix slams the bedroom door in his face and locks the door.

-

The next few days are painful, awkward, sad. Sylvain avoids Felix to avoid another argument, to avoid giving Felix a reason to hate him even more. He eats at the table alone, sometimes accompanied by their calico, Pixel. He sleeps out on the couch, only dipping into the bedroom to grab clothes. He doesn’t speak to Felix, doesn’t dare to look at him—and Felix doesn’t seem to look at him either, in the times that Sylvain’s fleeting glance grazes over him.

Sylvain’s drifting away from Felix, even more than he was before. Not a single day, single hour, minute, _second_ passes without Sylvain regretting saying those stupid words to Felix. Maybe Felix would have hated him less if he kept that to himself; maybe Felix would have come back around if he didn’t point that out.

Sylvain feels like a stranger in his own house.

And Felix must feel like that too.

One evening when Sylvain is eating dinner, watching some YouTube video on his phone while Pixel circles his feet and meows at him for scraps, Felix stalks out of the bedroom and stands beside him, his arms crossed. Sylvain tenses but doesn’t look over at him, trying his best to focus on his video.

“Sylvain.”

Sylvain has earbuds in but can still hear his voice, clear as day. Honestly, Sylvain doesn’t think there’s a life he could ever live when he didn’t hear Felix’s voice, recognize every little thing about it. If there is, he wouldn't want to live in it.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Sylvain pauses his video and fishes the earbuds out of his ears with a small sigh. He looks up at Felix, and instead of meeting angry, copper eyes, he sees hurt. A stab of guilt runs through his body—but a slight wave of relief, a selfish and guilt-inducing wave of relief, washes over him too because _Felix is beat up over this too, it’s not just me._

“You’re avoiding me too,” Sylvain replies as evenly as he can.

Felix averts his gaze but says nothing. Instead, he takes a seat across from Sylvain at the table.

Neither of them speak. Sylvain picks at his microwaveable dinner, waiting for Felix to speak. He can feel Felix’s gaze burning into him, and he so badly wishes to just say something, _anything_ , to break down the silence between them. Through all their years of being friends and being lovers, Sylvain has never felt this cautious and anxious around Felix.

It feels like a year passes. Then another. Then three more.

And finally, Felix lets out a sigh, a small sound but a sound that echoes around the apartment like the sudden sound of glass shattering. Sylvain raises his gaze to see Felix.

“This is stupid,” Felix mutters. He looks down at their table, at the swirls and spots of the wood. He traces a pattern with his index finger briefly before stopping. “This is fucking stupid.” He looks up at Sylvain. A haggard look. One of defeat, of frustration, of resignation. “This was never going to work between us.”

Sylvain feels his gaze go blurry for a second. For a second, he’s horrified that he’s crying, but a few quick blinks show that he’s not. His hands tremble, but he forces himself to put his utensils down and fold his hands, a feeble attempt to steady them. His chest feels like a giant chunk of his heart is being torn out by Felix, and he’s terrified that he won’t survive if Felix keeps on with this train of thought. But he feels like there’s nothing he can say. There’s a lump in his throat, and his mouth is dry.

 _Never?_ _Does this mean_ _you never liked me back?_ Sylvain wants to ask. _Did you just say yes to dating me just to humor me?_ Sylvain looks down at his plate. He’s not hungry anymore. The thought of eating anything makes him sick. The food would just taste like ash in his mouth anyway. _If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. I love you—and_ God _, do I love you—but if I’m not making you happy, I won’t stop you from leaving. I just want you happy._

“I’m sorry.” It’s all he can say. _I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry for everything._

And instead of getting an angry, _I don’t want to hear that,_ or maybe even a frustrated, _shut up_ , Sylvain gets silence.

-

When Sylvain wakes up the next day, the apartment is eerily silent. His heart sinks deep into his stomach, a feeling similar to one where he’s falling. He has a terrible feeling that he knows what's going on, but he desperately hangs on to the hope that it isn't as it seems.

He heads to the bedroom and knocks. No reply.

He calls Felix's name and knocks again. No reply.

He tries the doorknob. The door gives.

The bedroom is empty. Felix isn’t there.

-

Sylvain spirals. And he spirals hard.

Everything in his damned apartment reminds him of Felix—from the pictures of them as a happy couple adorning the walls to the pillows that smell ever so faintly of Felix’s shampoo to even the most mundane things, like the kitchen counters, where Felix would sit as Sylvain cooked them a midnight snack.

Even Pixel reminds him of Felix. Her splotches of black fur remind him of Felix’s hair. Her copper eyes remind him of Felix’s eyes. Her existence reminds him of Felix, period. Aside from the fact that Sylvain’s always teased Felix about behaving like a cat, it was Felix’s idea to get Pixel in the first place. He’s the one who adopted her and brought her home.

Their break-up hurts more than any word in any human language can explain. It leaves Sylvain feeling like he’s drowning, feeling like he’s lost, feeling like he’s just an empty shell of his former self, a crumbling corpse of a human.

He feels like he can't breathe, as if he's being pulled down into the depths of the ocean. No matter how hard he tries to keep his head above water, water floods his nose and his mouth and the salt of the ocean, of his own tears, stings his eyes. He wonders how long he can keep treading until he succumbs and gives to the tides of his depression, until he sinks lower and lower and lower. Until he hits rock bottom.

It’s a herculean effort just to pull himself out of bed in the morning. His dreams are always filled with flashes of images of Felix, flashes of smiles and soft touches, of frowns and anger, of hurt and disappointment. He wakes up with tears in his eyes, reaching out for the man who left him behind. He wakes up with the haunting scent of Felix’s shampoo lingering on his pillows, of his soap on his sheets.

But he always manages to pull himself out of bed. He might not treat himself well, but he’ll be damned if he neglects his poor Pixel.

Without Felix here to help balance his impulsivity, Sylvain finds himself spoiling Pixel with treats and toys and head pats; he finds himself ruining his own body with the help of alcohol.

It helps to numb his heart, helps to muffle the thoughts in his head, helps to make him feel a little less like shit. It’s not a good look on him, drinking until he blacks out and waking up hungover just to do it all over again later.

Days pass. Then a week. Then another. And before Sylvain knows it, Felix has been gone for almost three whole weeks. Sylvain’s been going through the motions, spoiling his cat rotten and living in this hellishly silent apartment.

Sylvain can’t take it anymore.

He feels like he’s going to go insane. He misses Felix so much, misses him so much that it physically hurts and makes him feel sick. He misses Felix, the same way that a grieving family misses the dead _—_ with fleeting glances at their happiest moments and texts and photos, with tears and bitter laughter, with denial and anger and depression. His chest aches and aches, and his stomach twists and burns and tightens. His heart is a sensitive bruise, and every little movement he takes jostles his aching heart, making him hurt like never before.

He wishes that he could just call Felix, beg him to come back, apologize like his life depends on it. But he won’t. If Felix is the one who left and who suggested that they were never going to work out, why would Felix want him to contact him? 

Sylvain won’t do anything that Felix doesn’t like to him.

But Felix isn’t around to stop him from relapsing.

Sylvain drifts and drifts away from what Felix would have liked him to be, and he finds himself back in his nasty, old habits again. He dresses himself up a little, sprays on a touch of cologne, and plasters on his trademark playboy smile when he goes out to the local club, roughly at least three times a week. It’s something he hasn’t done since he started officially going out with Felix, but it’s comforting, even though he knows Felix would throw a fit over this behavior.

(Does he even care about Sylvain anymore? Even as a friend? Does he care that Sylvain is slowly destroying himself, his mental health, his image? Does he care that all that time he spent reassuring Sylvain that he's _enough_ and that he's _loved_ has been a futile effort?)

The music is loud, blocking out his thoughts. The alcohol costs money, indulging his recklessness. And there are people around who undoubtedly find him attractive.

So who needs Felix, right? Sylvain’s hated and unlovable and terribly flawed, but at least someone in this club will find him perfect, right? Someone here will give him lots of love and attention and compliments, and they’ll help him forget Felix, if it’s even for a night.

...Right?

Sylvain hasn’t really taken anyone home yet, but tonight, he’s got a girl clinging to his arm and peppering his cheek in little kisses, her eyes lidded and lustful. Sylvain doesn’t even know her name, and he doesn’t care to. He presses his own lips to the girl’s as he fumbles with the keys to his apartment.

 _This feels wrong_ , his mind supplies urgently, desperately, like an alarm. _Felix’s lips didn’t feel like this. They were always just a little chapped, and they didn’t have lipstick on them. He didn’t taste like strawberry daiquiri; he tasted better. Like mint, like that toothpaste he uses, like, well,_ Felix. _His kisses were rougher and hotter, but with that soft undercurrent of care, with that urgency like he needed me too_ _—_

Sylvain forces himself to shut his brain off and forces his apartment door open, pinning the girl to the wall, kissing her. She giggles a little, a smile forming against his lips. Sylvain peeks an eye open at her. She's peeking at him too. Bright blue eyes, blue like the day sky. Not copper, not a warm, brown color like amber, not familiar _—_ not Felix.

A pang of pain reverberates through his chest, but Sylvain pulls away and plasters on a smile, gesturing at the bedroom as he shuts his apartment door and locks it. The girl takes his hand and they start towards the room.

Pixel is lying on the bed, staring at them. The girl flashes Pixel a fond smile and tries to gently shoo her off the bed as Sylvain starts to pull his shirt off. Pixel doesn’t move.

Pixel’s eyes bore holes into Sylvain’s head. For a second, Sylvain wants to laugh because it’s like she’s judging him. But then, he takes a better look at her. The patches of black fur. The copper-colored eyes. Felix.

And just like that, the fun buzz of the alcohol seems to fade and the ache in his chest returns. He can’t do this. _He can't do this._ He doesn’t want this girl. He doesn’t want anyone. He wants Felix, and Felix alone, and there's nothing in the world that can change that.

Sylvain turns to the girl and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. He knows what he has to do.

He feels his mouth moving. He sees her face slowly contorting. He tries to reassure her. Her face freezes on an emotion. Hurt. Then annoyance. She argues. He argues back. She gives in with a scoff and shoves him out of the way. The apartment door opens. It slams shut. The click of heels can just faintly be heard outside the apartment, walking away.

Sylvain slides down against his bedroom door and buries his head in his hands. He’s so pathetic. He can’t even manage to keep a one-night stand around long enough to fuck—how could he ever think that Felix would want to stay with him for longer than a single day, for a genuine relationship? He’s so unlovable, so desperate, so _pathetic._

Pixel hops off the bed and gingerly steps towards him. She rubs her face against his leg and meows. Sylvain looks up at her haggardly, but the soft rumble of her purr is comforting.

“Hey,” he says to her quietly. He runs a hand through her fur. “You didn't like her either, huh?” He straightens out his legs, and Pixel climbs into his lap. He looks down at her as he pets her. “I don't think I liked her much either."

He flicks his gaze down to look at Pixel. She stares up at him, curious. "You miss him too, don’t you?" Tears burn in his eyes, blur his vision, stream down his flushed face. He barks out a laugh, bitter and wry. “I miss him. So fucking much.”

-

“You know, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to at least check up on him if you’re worried about him,” Annette says, sitting on Felix’s bed. Technically, it’s her bed but she told Felix that he can have it, that he can stay at her place, until he gets back on his feet. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Felix grunts.

“Really. Sylvain’s a nice guy. He won’t hold anything against you. At least, I don’t think he will.” Annette holds a hand out. “Give me your phone. I’ll call him.”

“No.” Felix sighs and turns his desk-chair around to face Annette. “I don’t miss him.”

Annette raises an eyebrow. “Huh. Well, I didn’t say you did.”

Felix bristles. She's technically right. “Whatever. Point is, I don’t fucking care about him anymore. I told you before: I just care about the cat.”

Of course Felix cares about Pixel. He’d built such a steady schedule around Pixel. Without her around, doing anything just kind of feels wrong. What’s he supposed to do after his morning run? What’s he supposed to do after work? _Not_ feed and cuddle with his cat? That's just not right.

(But hadn't he also built a schedule around Sylvain? A good morning kiss when they woke up. A hot plate of breakfast with Sylvain, waiting for him after his shower. A kiss hello when they met up after work. Time together before bed. Curling up with him together as they drifted to sleep, their limbs entangled naturally as if they'd been born to be one.

Felix shakes this thought out of his head, but it haunts him, just like Sylvain's sad face from the last time he'd seen him.)

Felix heaves another sigh. Rolls his eyes. "I just want Pixel here. _I'm_ the one who adopted her so she should be with me. Plus, I don’t trust Sylvain with her.”

Annette cocks her head. “You don't trust him? Why not? Last I checked, he liked Pixel just as much as you did so I don’t see why he wouldn’t take good care of her.” She shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like Sylvain can’t take care of himself. He should be able to take care of a cat just fine!” She smiles at him.

It’s not reassuring.

Clearly, Annette hasn’t heard what Ingrid’s said about Sylvain lately. Felix grimaces.

Ingrid had called him about a week after they broke up, about a week since the last time Felix has seen Sylvain. “Honestly, Felix, just _what_ in the world did you say to him? I haven’t seen him this fucked up in so long.” Ingrid sounded sad, sounded worried, sounded frustrated. “He’s acting weird and I can rarely get him to answer my texts and calls. I hope he’s taking care of himself, but…”

 _I have my doubts._ It goes unsaid; it goes understood. After all, Felix shares the same sentiments. 

Felix will be the first to admit it. He feels a little bad. He knows that it was the break-up that started all of this. But he did this for both of their best interests. Being in that relationship was nice—‘nice’ is a complete and utter understatement, that relationship was one of the _best things_ that happened to Felix’s life—but he was taking a toll on Sylvain, just because he can’t open up about things. And he couldn’t bear to see Sylvain getting upset over things like that, over his incompetence. 

_Is this any better though?_ a small part of him asks. _He’s gotten worse. He didn’t move on like you thought he would. He didn't immediately have a rebound lover or anything like that. Is this really, truly any better—_

Annette groans and cups her face in her hands, pouting. “Well, if you’re going to mope about Pixel all day, why don’t you just go and see her?” Felix gives Annette a flat look, and Annette sticks her tongue out at him. “You’re just complicating this. You said that you and Sylvain weren’t on bad terms. So going over to see Pixel shouldn’t be too bad!”

 _Annette, I lied. I don’t think we’re on the best terms. I don’t think that going over to see him is the best idea. I don’t think he wants to see me._ Felix’s thoughts come to a pause, and he allows one truth to surface. _I don’t think I can bear seeing him._

As much as it kills him inside when he realizes that he and Sylvain are no longer dating, he bottles that up, hides it away. He won’t be seen as weak, not around Annette and not around anyone else. But he won’t deny that he feels like his life is slowly deteriorating without Sylvain. Without his embraces and touches and kisses, without his smiles and fond looks and jokes. Without him.

Annette takes on look at him and sighs. Her look is pitying, is sad.

“How about you just go over and say you left something important? Then you can see the cat and come back."

Felix considers this. It’s not a bad idea. The only problem is that he’s pretty sure that he’s grabbed everything he needs. In fact, he’s grabbed things he _didn’t_ need when he left. Some of Sylvain’s sweatshirts and hoodies are here in his closet.

Those sweatshirts and hoodies only make Felix feel worse about everything. They still smell like Sylvain. He wears them, only realizing what he's done when he sees how big they are on his lithe frame. He can practically envision Sylvain coming up behind him, wrapping his arms around Felix's shoulder, purring that he _looks cute like this_. 

They only make him miss Sylvain so much more.

Nonetheless, he figures he’s probably left something behind so he takes Annette’s advice and heads to Sylvain’s apartment.

The apartment feels so familiar. He fishes out his keyring and flips through the keys. His eyes scan over the shapes. He doesn't see that familiar glint of gold, the little "windows" on the top of the key. He looks through again, this time a little slower.

It’s then that he realizes that he doesn’t have Sylvain’s apartment key anymore. He left it on the kitchen counter when he packed his shit and stormed out. He wonders if Sylvain still has that copy of the key. If he's thrown it away or turned it in to the landowners. If he's given it to someone else.

Felix tenses and brushes the thoughts aside. He sighs and looks up at the door, raising a hand. He falters a little, but he pushes through his hesitance and knocks at the door.

No reply.

He knocks again, louder and more insistent.

No reply.

Felix fishes out his phone and thinks about sending Sylvain a text, giving him a call—something that’ll get him to open the door. But he sees that the last thing he sent Sylvain was a curt, _love you too_ , and it doesn’t feel right to ruin that warm, happy memory with this.

He knocks again, and he’s about to leave when the lock clicks, and the door creaks open.

There stands Sylvain, looking sickly and messy. His clothes are crumpled; his hair is greasy and unkempt. His eyes are tired, dark circles hanging from his eyes. Sylvain looks so tired, so hurt, so _done_. He’s a hot mess. Just seeing Sylvain like this winds Felix, and it stings his heart, feels like a sharp pain. Felix knows that he’s the cause of Sylvain looking so terrible. Still, Sylvain looks handsome, and Felix can’t help the way his heart yearns for the redhead.

His first reaction is to want to press his lips into Sylvain's, to hear Sylvain tell him with a fond smile, "Welcome home, sweetheart." 

_No, we’re not a couple anymore,_ Felix quickly scolds himself. It does very little to sway the feeling of pity, guilt, _love_ in Felix’s chest.

Sylvain’s eyes widen. “Felix?”

Felix wants to say something kind of nice, wants to be civil. But he can’t help but to wrinkle his nose. Sylvain smells strongly of alcohol. “Have you been drinking? It’s, like, two in the afternoon.” 

_What the hell are you doing to yourself?_ Felix wants to scream. _You're hurting yourself. You're hurting someone I love. Stop that. Stop that right now. Stop that!_

Sylvain doesn’t reply.

“Whatever." Felix's voice wobbles a little, but he steadies his voice quickly enough. "Just let me in. I left something behind.”

Sylvain opens the door without a second thought, and Felix steps in. Immediately, he notices that the apartment looks a little different. It’s clean; it’s barren. The pictures of him and Sylvain on the walls are no longer there. The things that Felix bought, like the blankets he bought for their movie nights on the couch and the sleek swords that he bought on a whim and Sylvain had hung up above the TV, aren’t in his immediate line of sight. It's like they've been hidden or put away.

Felix furrows his brow as he looks around. The apartment feels so empty, so off. _You're_ _hiding evidence that I've ever lived here. You're acting like I've died. Stop that. I'm right here. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here._

He doesn't know what to say, what to expect. But he turns his gaze to Sylvain. Sylvain looks away. He didn’t miss how Sylvain’s gaze lingered on him.

 _Sylvain, look at me. Look at me already._ Felix stuffs his shaking hands into his hoodie pocket. If he doesn't, he's scared of what he'll do, of what his greedy, yearning hands will make him do to Sylvain. _Don't just erase me from your life. Don't just forget me._

Pixel comes up to greet him. Felix crouches. He takes one hand out from his pocket and lets Pixel rub her face against it, purring. He frowns.

“You’ve gotten fat,” he tells her. She meows at him. Felix looks up at Sylvain again. “You spoiled her.” He furrows his brow. “Annette was wrong. You clearly can’t take care of yourself or the cat.” He scoops Pixel into his arms. “She’s coming with me.”

Sylvain’s eyes go wide. His hand shoots out and grabs Felix's bicep. Felix feels a _jolt_ where Sylvain touches him, and he so desperately wants to lean in, to pull Sylvain closer, but he stands his ground. “What?" Sylvain blurts. "You can’t take her.”

Felix forces himself to pull his arm from Sylvain, turning to face him. “Why not? I’m the one who adopted her.”

Sylvain fumbles with his words, his mouth opening and shutting as he tries to think of something. Felix kind of feels bad, but he’s never been the type of person to take back what he said.

 _Except for when it comes to Sylvain,_ his brain supplies. _You always want to do your best to make sure your feelings are clear with Sylvain, even if it means apologizing and looking like a fool. Besides, you still miss him. You want to apologize. You want to go back._

He aptly tells his brain to shut the fuck up.

“Felix, please. She’s the only thing keeping me together right now,” Sylvain finally jokes, something weak and too close for the truth for Felix’s liking. He wears a small, sad smile. His voice is tired, wispy, raspy. “Just let her stay. She's comfortable here with me anyway."

That hurts. It feels like someone ran Felix through the chest with one of those swords that he bought, a festering and bloody wound in his chest that blossoms and only gets worse when Sylvain haunts him like this. He flicks his gaze down at Pixel and back up at Sylvain. Sylvain won’t lift his gaze. He instead stares down at the ground, where Pixel once stood, still wearing that wry smile.

“Well, I miss her too, Sylvain.” Felix pushes away the feeling of guilt when he sees the crushed look on Sylvain’s face. _And I_ _miss you too_ , _even if you're hellbent on forgetting me,_ he wants to say, but he doesn’t.

“But…”

“Just let me have her for a week.”

Sylvain looks at Felix’s face. Felix feels a chill ripple through is body when he sees how soft his gaze is. How relenting, how forgiving, how compromising he looks. Sylvain’s shattered to pieces, been to hell and back, practically died and been briefly resurrected—but he’s still yielding to Felix.

“Okay then. You can take her.”

-

Pixel has no objections here at Annette’s house—and Annette definitely has no objections to Pixel staying. Annette loves having a furry guest in her home. She likes to follow Pixel around, trying to snap a photo of her and making little kissy noises to try and draw Pixel towards her.

But Felix doesn’t know if he can even look at Pixel. It’s only been a day or two—God, he’s been losing track of time with his thoughts lingering on Sylvain—but Sylvain’s still haunting him. Ingrid was right. He’s not taking care of himself.

Yet, he’d been taking care of Pixel. He’d been feeding her, brushing her, bathing her. She must have been eating well because she’s gained some weight.

To think that Sylvain has been taking better care of this cat than he’s been taking care of himself—it hurts. It hurts a lot. But it’s definitely on par as something that he would do, that bastard. 

Looking at Pixel is too much of reminder of everything that he and Sylvain were before they broke up. The little patches of orange fur remind him of Sylvain’s hair. The little curl to her lips and the way she tilts her head sometimes reminds him of Sylvain’s smile, Sylvain’s mannerisms. And her existence is just such a punch in the gut.

They had argued about Pixel before, right when Felix brought her home. It wasn’t anything serious because they’d talked about getting a pet before, but Sylvain had been against having one, albeit reluctantly. He had lots of good points—they’re both busy people, cat fur is a pain to clean, the apartment might be too small for the cat to comfortably live in—but in the end, he could never say no to Felix. And he grew to love Pixel just as much as Felix did.

Sylvain’s the one who named her. He had joked that without his glasses on, she looked like a bunch of blurry black and white and orange pixels on a screen, and that name had just seemed to fit—Pixel.

She really is a reminder of all of their good times.

They’d all cuddle on the couch, watching a show with Pixel greedily pawing at their hands for their snacks and trying to get their attention by sprawling out over their laps and meowing. They’d buy Pixel silly hats, both of them smiling and laughing even though Pixel always ended up tearing the hats off and getting grumpy. They’d both sleep on the bed with Pixel at the foot of the bed, though she’d end up lying atop both of them in the morning.

Pixel's here; it just feels wrong that Sylvain isn't. 

Felix doesn’t know how much more of this he can take without giving in and seeing Sylvain, trying to make up for everything that happened.

-

By the end of the week, Felix is at Sylvain’s apartment again. He’s reluctant to let Pixel go, but he has an idea. A selfish idea, but an idea that’ll let him keep Pixel around and keep an eye on Sylvain so he isn’t doing anything stupid.

Felix knocks. This time around, Sylvain answers the door relatively quickly, though he still looks like a mess. Felix gives him a nod of acknowledgment and silently steps into his apartment.

He sets down the cat carrier, the cat food and treats, the toys, the bowls, the litterbox, the bed. Sylvain crouches down in front of the cat carrier and unhooks the latch. Pixel steps out and purrs, rubbing her side against Sylvain’s leg. Sylvain smiles a little, running his hands through her soft fur.

“I... I thought about this. While I had her,” Felix starts awkwardly, stiltedly. Sylvain looks up at him curiously. The bags under his eyes still weigh heavy, but curiosity looks good on him. It always has. Having any emotion other than downtrodden makes Sylvain look so much more alive. "But she’s not just mine or yours. We both need her. So maybe we can just swap off. Every week. Like this.” He waits a beat. “Or something.”

Sylvain looks down at Pixel and shrugs. “Sounds good to me. I don’t mind as long as Pixel’s here.”

 _What about me?_ Felix wants to ask. _Do you mind if I’m here? Have you ever minded that I'm here?_

Instead, he says, "I’ll come back next week to take her back then.”

Sylvain nods.

Felix doesn’t feel right leaving. He wants to stay. He wants to be with Sylvain, wants to be with Pixel, wants to be happy with them again. There’s so much he wishes he could say, but he remembers their argument—he remembers breaking things off himself, remembers wanting to stop Sylvain from being so sad about the fact that Felix sucks at expressing himself right, remembers how much he hurt Sylvain and how Sylvain probably doesn’t care about him anymore.

So he leaves.

-

And so it goes like this:

Every week or so, Felix and Sylvain switch off ownership of Pixel. Felix comes to Sylvain and drop off or pick up Pixel and all her belongings, telling Sylvain how she’s been over the past week—if there’s any problems with her diet or her behavior or anything. Sylvain will listen intently, as if everything from Felix’s mouth is sent straight from God. Because of _course_ he fucking does, that asshole.

At first, it’s Felix being Felix. Something curt like _hand her over_ or _I’m just here for Pixel._ But eventually, he caves. He _always_ does with Sylvain.

“You feed her too much,” he says to Sylvain with an off-handedly click of his tongue while dropping Pixel off. “I try to make her play with her toys, but it’s like she just doesn’t want to move anymore.”

Sylvain had laughed a little at that, something so sweet and pure that Felix just knows that angels envy the sound of his voice, of this laughter. A small and happy sound, brief and soft. Like the chime of a bell, like the tinkering of piano keys. It makes something hot and fuzzy flare up in Felix’s chest.

And since then, Felix hasn’t been able to stop himself from trying to make Sylvain smile, from making him laugh again. Before he knows it, he’s striking up more and more conversations with Sylvain, though it’s almost always about Pixel, the one thing that they share in common at the moment.

Felix will say things like _cut back on the treats already,_ or _she likes me better,_ or _she ran straight into a wall today_ , just to try and tear down the walls between them. It’s funny—Sylvain’s usually the one doing the talking, but Felix had come to a conclusion the other day.

This had all really been his own fault. Sylvain had acted strangely in response to him. And Felix had been the one to turn tail and run away from the relationship when Sylvain hadn’t mentioned any discontent.

So isn’t it up to him to fix it?

Well, he thinks it is, at least. He upset Sylvain. Hurt him, even. Made him fall into all these terrible habits again. And even if it’s not his fault, Felix has always been the one to help whip Sylvain back into shape, to make him see his errors just as Sylvain does for him, to make reassure him and make him feel better. It’s the least he can do, right?

But he can’t help but to feel a little selfish. He’s picking up the pieces, the shards of what their relationship was, but he can’t help but to leave a few behind just in case. Like a trail, leading back to Felix. A sign showing that Felix still wants him.

Lingering gazes, sorrowful looks. Soft touches that last too long, brusque words that lack conviction. Yearning for him, missing him, loving him.

Sylvain doesn’t really have much to say at first. He lets Felix go with Pixel, flashing Pixel a small smile and promising to see her later. But about the fourth time that they switch off, he slowly, _slowly_ starts to… change somehow.

He gradually stops looking so tired. His hair stops taking on that greasy sheen, instead looking neat and clean as it did before. Though the bags under his eyes are still present, his expression is less miserable. His clothes aren’t wrinkled and nor do they reek of alcohol.

And he opens up. He talks more—about Pixel, about the weather, about _anything_. All in that casual tone that he uses around acquaintances, around friends, around _Felix._

Felix can’t help but to get a bad feeling about it. Has Sylvain found someone else? Has Sylvain finally moved on? Has he finally gotten over their breakup? So soon? Anxiety twists up his guts and makes him nauseous, but he bites back any concerns he has.

He clings to what he can of Sylvain. He clings to the way that Sylvain looks so bright and warm when Felix is there to pick up Pixel. He clings to the way that Sylvain wilts a little, like a dying flower, when he leaves with Pixel. And even though it hurts, he clings to the small fond smiles Sylvain flashes Pixel and the slight brushes of his hand against Sylvain’s, the warm tones of his voice and the butterflies that flutter around in his chest and stomach when Sylvain laughs at something Pixel’s done.

 _I miss you_ , Felix always wants to say. _I miss you so much it hurts. You’re driving me insane. I can’t fucking think about anyone other than you; and I can’t fucking think around you either. I just need you. Even if you don’t need me anymore. Like I need you._

But he bottles up his feelings and carries on.

( _Isn't this kind of bad?_ a little part of him insists. _Isn't this what got you into this problem in the first place? Your inability to express yourself? Your inability to share your true colors? Haven't you learned your lesson yet?_

Felix shuts that thought out, but the guilt does weigh heavy on his heart. He wonders how much more he can take before he crumbles under the weight of it all.)

 _I’ll move on too,_ he promises himself regardless. Maybe it's a promise to Sylvain too. _I’ll move on so we aren’t burdened with this awkwardness anymore._

But deep in his heart, he doesn’t know if he can.

Especially when Sylvain is starting to recover some of that sparkling personality of his. Felix’s comments about Pixel slowly become less one-sided. Sylvain starts to talk more, joke more, smile more. And it’s not long before it’s like they never fought.

Sylvain talks to him like a friend. Casual conversations about work and things he saw online, maybe a few posts and memes that he thinks that Felix would like—it all becomes commonplace. When Felix comes for Pixel, he ends up staying a little longer than he anticipates. He’ll drink tea with Sylvain, chat, maybe even stay long enough to watch an episode of that one show that they both enjoy.

Sylvain’s also the first to reach out over text.

 _hey_ , his message reads one afternoon, _i bought pixel a new cat toy. can i come over and see her play with it for a little bit?_

Felix struggles with this. He wants to see Sylvain. He wants to see him playing with their cat, just like the good old days. Yet, he doesn’t know how he feels about having him in his own home.

Well, Annette’s home.

Annette really wants to see Sylvain, and she _really_ wants to see Pixel play with whatever asinine thing Sylvain wasted his money on—so Felix sends him a simple response of _fine._

Sylvain comes over, wearing a small smile and holding a colorful box marketing a _11 PIECE INTERACTIVE CAT TOY!_ in big, bubble letters with a kitten, entirely enraptured by the colorful toys, pawing at the display.

“Hi,” he greets, and Felix eyes the box. “It looked fun,” Sylvain supplies rather unhelpfully as he steps into Annette’s house. “Pixel! Daddy’s brought you a present!” he calls, and Pixel curiously stalks over, cocking her head with her tail swishing behind her.

“Hiya, Sylvain!” Annette pops up from the kitchen. “Ooh, a box! Is that the toy?”

Felix watches as Sylvain steps out of his shoes and makes his way to the living room, slowly unboxing the toy. It turns out to just be a generic cat toy, one of those rods where you attach a feather or a mouse doll at the end and swing it around so that your cat swats at it, but Pixel seems to like it. And so does Annette.

And so does Sylvain.

Felix can’t focus on Pixel playing with the toy. His eyes are drawn to Sylvain’s handsome face, lit up with a delighted smile; his eyes are drawn to Sylvain’s perfect, red hair bouncing with his every movement, with his laughter; his eyes are drawn to Sylvain. He doesn’t care that Pixel is batting around one of those fun worm-on-a-strings at the end of the rod; he doesn’t care that Annette is desperately trying to get Pixel’s love by tossing some of the toys in her direction.

He is completely, utterly, hopelessly transfixed on Sylvain.

He swallows. He’s in over his head. It seems that he’s been holding onto more love for Sylvain than he expected.

This isn't good.

-

Pixel watches as Sylvain paces around the living room of his apartment. One hand on his hip, the other gripping red locks at the base. A pensive look on his face when he finally stops and throws his hands up in the air with a frustrated groan.

Sylvain shoots a look towards Pixel, as if she could say anything. She just blinks at him, slowly. Hopelessly, he sighs and flops down onto the couch.

 _I miss him,_ Sylvain thinks, shutting his eyes. _I miss him so much more than I did before. I think I preferred when he was ignoring me—it’s hard to ignore my feelings for him now that he keeps coming around._

He looks down at himself. He tried to get his act together, tried to make himself look less like a pathetic, self-hating mess for Felix. As if it’d change his mind. As if it’d make him come back. It didn’t—but seeing Sylvain as such a mess didn’t scare Felix away. If anything, it drew him closer.

 _Great,_ Sylvain thinks with another groan, throwing an arm over his eyes. _He pities me. He feels bad._

“But what can I do?” he asks himself aloud. In his apartment, his empty, Felix-less apartment, his voice echoes, resounds, reverberates. It just drives that loneliness, that dread, that yearning so much deeper into his heart.

 _I don’t want to just be friends. But I don’t want to force him into a relationship._ Sylvain pauses. _Well, it’s unlikely that he’d let that happen again. He’s Felix—he does things his own way, and he does them because he believes in them… But does that mean he genuinely wanted to date me the first time?_

Sylvain lets out a sigh.

"So, I let _the one_ get away, huh?” he muses aloud. “I fucked everything up, just like I always do.”

Yet, he has such an odd feeling in his chest. Like a bloom of hope, a little light, a spark of optimism.

Felix doesn’t hate him. Felix can tolerate him. They’re still friends. Kind of.

After all, if Felix really, truly, absolutely hated Sylvain, with every fiber of his being, wouldn’t he give Sylvain something similar to the Rodrigue treatment? Cut him off, give him dirty looks, talk shit about him? Felix hasn’t been anything like that towards him. He hasn’t been like that at all, actually.

He’s been a little cold, a little rough in his manner of speech, but that’s just Felix. He’s been kind of close for Felix standards too, standing closer to him, not pulling away if Sylvain lingers just a touch too close. His eyes are softer, his expression is warmer, and he looks a little discontent. Sad, even. Maybe he’s missed Sylvain? Or maybe is he being a little too hopeful?

Sylvain can only wonder. Is there hope for them? Has there ever been? And what are they now? Friends? Acquaintances? That strange, blurred line in-between?

And more importantly, is there ever a chance that they can be lovers again?

Sylvain can only hope.

-

Sylvain is patient.

He’s patient when he waits for his order at restaurants during their busiest hour. He’s patient when he’s stuck in traffic jams on his way home from work while cars crankily honk their horns all around him. He’s patient when trying to teach Dimitri how to properly use his phone to text, trying desperately to get him to stop texting with the first letters of each word capitalized and trying to get him to use a few emojis for once, even though he always seems to forget what Sylvain taught him a while back.

Sylvain is patient.

But even he, with the patience of a saint, has a breaking point—and it seems that his breaking point has finally come.

It’s Felix’s turn to look after Pixel for the week, but just as he loaded all of Pixel’s belongings into his car, his engine gave out. Frustrated, Felix stepped out of his car and knocked on Sylvain’s door again.

"My car is old,” he had explained sheepishly, standing at Sylvain’s door with Pixel’s cat carrier in his arms.

( _I know_ , Sylvain had wanted to say. _I offered to buy you a brand new one a few months ago, remember? You said no. You said you liked that one and that it worked just fine. You said that you didn’t mind having a shitty car—that you didn’t mind taking drives in mine, with me, when yours acted up._ )

“Its stupid engine won’t work, and Annette is spending time with Mercedes this week.” Felix looked down at Pixel then out at the night sky, dotted with stars that dance around the moon. “Could you let me stay for a bit? I’ll just call someone to drive me back.”

Sylvain followed his gaze. It was dark. It was cold.

It would have been wrong to leave Felix out.

So Sylvain offered his home for the night. 

Of course, Felix was averse to this idea— _of course he is,_ Sylvain thinks in retrospect, _because who wants to spend the night at their ex's house?—_ but whether it was for Pixel's sake or his own, he decided to stay. Now, they're eating a takeout meal together at the couch, watching TV.

There's a small distance between them. There's a small tension between them. But Sylvain can't help but to think that this distance between them is smaller than before they broke up, that the tension is much tamer than before.

It takes a lot of Sylvain not to close the distance, to scoot closer and bring Felix into his arms, to become a babbling, apologetic mess. But if he keeps his gaze on the TV and keeps focusing on whatever’s happening on the screen, he can ignore these feelings.

…He can’t ignore Felix for long.

His gaze always drifts back, as if pulled by gravity. His eyes greedily take in as much of Felix as he can. Felix, with his long lashes and his calloused hands and his sharp eyes, is wearing that ponytail like he always is, wearing his typical grumpy look, wearing… Is that _Sylvain’s hoodie?_

Sylvain freezes. That’s _definitely_ Sylvain’s hoodie. He recognizes the large, faded school logo plastered across the front and the way that the strings are frayed and beat-up. It’s also much bigger than Felix is. How had he missed this when Felix first came in? Did Felix know? He _has_ to know, right? That thing practically swallows him and hangs off him—it doesn’t fit.

So was this intentional? What’s the reasoning behind this? Just to taunt Sylvain?

Felix must notice how Sylvain tenses because he turns to look at him.

“What?” he asks. He follows Sylvain’s gaze. For a split second, his eyes go wide with some sort of shock. Then, he quickly averts his gaze. “I… must have packed this by accident.” He furrows his brows. “Do you… want it back?”

Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. “Keep it.” His mouth is moving before he can really recognize what he’s saying. He abruptly stops himself before he says what he’s thinking. _It looks better on you anyway._

Felix shrugs a little and turns his attention back to the TV.

At some point while they’re watching this show, Sylvain and Felix had started to sit a little closer. Sylvain thinks that it’s because they were both trying to reach the snacks he’d laid out on the table. Sylvain tried to keep his distance, but having to sit up and reach for a handful of snacks didn’t seem worth it—he can only imagine how much worse it must be for Felix, whose arms are shorter. So, they ended up sitting closer together.

Sylvain’s heart is racing out of his chest. This feels too normal. Felix and Sylvain are practically sitting with their arms pressed up against one another. Felix doesn’t seem bothered by this at all, but Sylvain can’t bear this. This feels too domestic.

Even Pixel seems to act like nothing’s changed. She sits along the top of the couch, just behind their heads. Her tails dips down and brushes where their shoulders are connected. She reaches forward and swats at Felix’s hands, trying to nab some chips, and Felix huffs at her, telling her off as if she can perfectly understand English. Well, Sylvain supposes he can’t really say anything; he does that too.

Sylvain composes himself and tries to focus on the show.

But at some point during the show, when Felix’s head gently lolls to the side, when Felix rests his head on Sylvain’s shoulder, he breaks. He’s been bending and bending and bending, and now, he’s broken completely.

He can’t do this. He can’t be so close to Felix and _not_ be with him. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

He remembers the past few months. He remembers how cold Felix used to be towards him when he first came for Pixel. He remembers how Felix slowly opened up, trying to awkwardly start up conversations and staying for longer just to carry out these conversations, even if Sylvain was still a walking corpse by that point. He remembers how Felix started to smile more, how Felix became less distant towards him, how Felix stayed to talk about shows and sports and games; he remembers how Felix came over to his house, even when it wasn’t the day to swap off care for Pixel.

He remembers how life slowly returned to his own body, how that love for Felix just reignited, how his yearning for him only grew _that much stronger_.

And he freaks out.

He pulls away quickly, like he’s been burnt, like he’s dared to linger too close to an open fire and got hurt for it. His heart is beating so hard that he can hear it in his ears, can feel it in his head and hands. This hurts. This seriously hurts. His chest just _hurts_. 

Felix gives him this groggy, confused look, his eyebrows furrowed. Was he asleep? Had he been aware of what he’d done?

“Felix.” Is that Sylvain? Is that his voice? What is he saying? Oh, God, what in the _world_ is he saying?

“What?”

 _It hurts so much when you’re around. It hurts just as much when you’re not. What do I do?_ Sylvain shuts his eyes tightly. _What do I do? I’m so hopelessly, stupidly, pathetically in love with you, and I don’t know what to do._

Sylvain panics a little. He shouldn’t have moved. He should have just tried to close his eyes and pretend that he and Felix were a couple, even if they weren’t. He should have just tried to take in as much comfort and body heat from Felix as he could, even if it kills him inside to realize that they’re not a couple. He shouldn’t have said anything.

Sylvain panics so he does what he does best: puts on a smile and feigns being okay. “Nothing.”

Felix’s expression immediately sours. “Just fucking spit it out. You _know_ that doesn’t work on me.”

Sylvain hums. “Spit what out?” He stands from the couch and starts to tidy the snacks on the coffee table. “There’s nothing I wanna say. Except maybe, like, you should get some rest. It’s kind of late.”

Felix stands up behind him. “Stop that. I hate when you do that.”

“When I do what?”

“ _That._ ”

“And what, exactly, is ‘that?’”

Felix gives a frustrated groan. “Sylvain.”

Sylvain feels his insides twist, but he continues on with his ignorant act. He twists the chip bags and clips them to save what they hadn’t eaten. “I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

“Cut the shit.” Felix walks around the table to cut Sylvain off from the kitchen. He stops Sylvain in his tracks. “Just tell me what you were going to say. And don’t give me any of that ‘go to bed’ bullshit. We both know that isn’t what you were going to say.”

Sylvain opens his mouth, probably to lie because it’s practically second nature to him at this point, but then he sees the solemn look to Felix’s face, and he remembers what they argued about. He remembers Felix’s frustrated, _I don’t want to hear your stupid apologies, especially when you’re a complete hypocrite_ , and his _practice what you preach, Sylvain_.

Hiding what he’s feeling from Felix is what got him into this mess. He doesn't want to make things any worse. He doesn't want a repeat of their fight. So he decides to be honest.

Sylvain gives a small sigh. “Okay. You got me. That wasn’t what I was going to say at all.”

“I know so hurry up and tell me what it is already.”

Sylvain shuffles uncomfortably, fiddles with the bag of chips in his hands. But he musters up his courage and looks Felix in the eyes as he speaks.

“Felix, what are we doing?”

Felix stares at him. Raises an eyebrow.

“What _are_ we?”

His eyes widen a little.

“You don’t like me anymore,” Sylvain continues, reinvigorated with a new sense of courage. “You don’t, but you act like—like nothing’s changed.” He grimaces. “So what are we? Are we friends? Are we bitter exes?” Sylvain finally tears his gaze from Felix. “I don’t know if you’re doing this intentionally, but it just hurts, you know. I still… I still love you. Even if you don’t feel the same.”

There’s a beat of silence; it makes Sylvain’s skin crawl.

“Forget it,” Sylvain quickly blurts out, and he takes a step back with a nervous laugh. _I made things awkward. I ruined everything. I fucked it all up again._ “Um, you’re still welcome to stay here, but I understand if you don’t want to.”

Felix sighs. “Stop that. Don’t be weird.” Felix tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie—or, well, _Sylvain’s_ hoodie. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Relief slowly trickles into his heart— _I’m not going anywhere either_ —but he remains disheartened. “Oh. Well. Cool.” Sylvain steps around Felix to get to his kitchen. He puts the chips away in the pantry. He nearly bumps into Felix when he turns around.

“Sylvain. Stop running away.”

“From what?”

“You know from what. From me.” Felix crosses his arms. “It’s about time we talked about this anyway.” He walks back to the couch and gives Sylvain an expectant look. Sylvain comes and sits too, though he sits at a bit of a little distance.

It’s silent. Too silent.

Sylvain’s gaze flits around the room. His heart is beating quickly in his chest, panicking. _Don’t let me get hurt again,_ it cries out desperately. _Don’t let Felix get away again._ A sense of urgency wracks his body.

“I’m sorry.”

Sylvain blinks owlishly. He looks up at Felix. Felix isn’t looking at him. Instead, his gaze is fixed at the space between them.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “That argument—it all started because of me.” Sylvain opens his mouth to protest, but Felix doesn’t give him a chance to speak. “I was acting weird. And I shouldn’t have just bottled it up like that.” He averts his gaze. “That month was the month of Glenn’s death—the anniversary of his death.” He grimaces. “And I was just upset.”

Sylvain frowns. “Felix…”

“I didn’t feel right being happy and carefree like that when Glenn can’t be—when he’s suffered so much and when he’s long-dead. This could have been him. He could’ve been someone in a relationship. Could’ve been happy. And I’m sure he would have liked to meet you, not as a friend or a brother’s friend—but as my boyfriend.” Felix lets out a sigh. “So I guess I was taking my frustration out on you. And I’m sorry about that too.”

Sylvain can only stare at Felix. Relief pours over him, over and over. _Felix wasn’t falling out of love with me,_ Sylvain thinks. _He was just upset about something he couldn’t bring himself to talk about—Glenn._ A pang of sadness runs through his body. _But I wish he would have told me. I wouldn’t have minded hearing him out._

It isn’t that easy, he knows. Felix doesn’t particularly care that it’s Sylvain to hear this. He just doesn’t want to be open to anyone. Not Ingrid, not Annette, not Sylvain. He just wants to suffer through all that alone so that he isn’t a burden, so that he isn’t seen as weak. Sylvain wishes that he could have just reassured Felix that he would never see him any differently.

“Well,” Sylvain says softly, “Glenn would have been really happy to know that you’re doing so well after something that traumatic. I know he would be.”

Felix shuts his eyes. “I know, but I don’t care about that anymore.” He meets Sylvain’s eyes again, and Sylvain feels a chill run down his spine. “I’m sorry, Sylvain. I mean it.”

Sylvain knows that Felix is lying again. _You can’t just forget something that easily._ But he knows it’s Felix trying his best to extend a hand, to put that behind him. And Sylvain can only admire Felix for keeping himself so composed, can only reach out his own hand to take Felix’s in his own.

“I’m sorry too.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“No. You’re wrong.” Sylvain smiles a little. “You were right. I was being hypocritical. I asked you to open up to me, but I don’t open up with you either.”

Felix tries to wave it off.

“No, really. Even now, you had to force me to sit down and have this conversation with you.” Felix has nothing to say to that. “So I’m sorry. I was… worried that I did something to upset you. You were acting cold. I thought I did something terrible and that you would want to keep your distance from me or something. I didn’t want to, you know, make things worse.”

“So that’s why you were acting so secretive,” Felix muses.

Sylvain nods. “Sorry. I must have seemed like I was hiding something from you, but I promise that that’s all it was.” He smiles a little. He tries to seem casual, seem nonchalant, but he knows that his smile is tainted with a touch of wryness.

 _I thought you were falling out of love. I thought you didn’t like me anymore. I thought you wanted to leave, even if I wanted you to stay._ But in the end, Felix left anyway, and wasn’t it Sylvain’s fault? Wasn’t it because he was so unable to open up? The very same thing that he tried to get on Felix for?

Felix rolls his eyes. “Sylvain, look. I know I’m not… the easiest person to get along with, but you’ve known me for how long? Since we were both babies, waddling around in diapers? You know me better than that. You know when I’m upset with you. And that wasn’t it. I was never upset with you, and I don’t think I could ever really be upset with you.” He pauses a beat. “Well, unless you decided to see someone else while seeing me. Then I don’t know if I could ever forgive you.”

Sylvain doesn’t hesitate. “I would never do that.”

Felix doesn’t either. “I know.”

The world slows down around them. They’ve both explained their sides of the argument; they both hold nothing against one another; they both understand each other and what happened. But where does that leave them now? Where does that put them? Are they still just friends?

Felix must be thinking the same thing as Sylvain.

“Sylvain.” Felix averts his gaze from Sylvain’s. He wears a serious expression, one tinted with a slight hint of sadness—yet the faintest flush can be seen against his cheeks, spreading up until the tips of his ears. “I don’t know what made you think this, but I don’t hate you or anything. I like you.”

Sylvain smiles a little, even if there’s a piercing pain in his chest. “I like you too. You’ve always been one of my closest friends. And I’m happy that you’re still around, y’know?”

Felix stares at him. “No. Not like that.” Felix lets out a small huff. “How dense are you?” He fixes their gazes together. “I mean that I still love you, you idiot.”

Sylvain blanks.

“I know I’m the one who kind of called things off, and I know I said that shit about how this was never going to work, but… I never meant that. It just came out because I was just so frustrated.” Felix furrows his brows. “I still care for you. The same way as before.”

Sylvain gawks. “You..? Really?” _Please don’t be joking or lying,_ Sylvain wants to plead. _I can’t take any more heartbreak._ He brings himself a touch closer to Felix. “Then, what are we?”

Sylvain holds his breath, waiting for Felix's response.

“Whatever you want us to be.” Felix crosses his arms. “I love you, but I won’t push you to do anything you don’t want to.”

 _Those words—they’re so familiar. They’re the same things I was thinking when you broke up with me._ Sylvain feels his chest light up with happiness, with relief.

“If I said friends?” Sylvain asks.

Felix grimaces the tiniest bit; Sylvain catches it nonetheless. “Then we’re friends.”

“And if I said boyfriends?”

Felix’s expression relaxes. A shadow of a smile hides in Felix’s expression. “Then we’re boyfriends.”

And it's in that very moment, when Sylvain's heartbeat picks up, when Felix voices that he wouldn't mind dating again, that the world seems to spark to life. Colors are that much brighter, lighter, sharper. Sounds, smells, and sensations are so much more pronounced—but it's not like it matters. The only thing that matters to Sylvain now is Felix, the way that his hair catches strips of moonlight from the nearby window, the way that his eyes look a shade brighter, the way that his smiling lips and cheeks look a shade pinker.

Sylvain can’t hold himself back anymore. He practically launches himself at Felix, pulling him into a tight hug. They both collapse on the couch, Felix landing on his back with Sylvain lying on top of him. Felix pulls Sylvain in tight and buries his face in Sylvain’s shoulder, as if he can’t bear to be separated from Sylvain again, as if he hadn’t seen him in years and years. Neither of them speak, but Sylvain can feel the relief, the joy, the sheer ecstasy of being with Felix again—and he can feel that Felix feels the same way. They remain like that, entangled with one another for a while.

“I’ll be better,” Sylvain promises. “I won’t hide myself from you again.”

Felix just grunts. “Shut up. Don’t get all soft on me.” Yet, after a small pause, he gently runs a hand through Sylvain's locks and whispers back, “And I’ll try my best not to do that either.”

It's a promise. Sylvain knows how Felix is about their promises; and Felix knows how Sylvain is about them too.

Warmth envelops Sylvain, makes him feel fuzzy and strange. He smiles and looks at Felix, finding that Felix is wearing a small smile himself. It’s familiar. It’s adorable, perfect, soft. It’s everything that Sylvain has missed while they were apart.

Pixel hops down from the top of the couch with a soft _meow_. She pads over to where Sylvain and Felix are curiously and presses her nose against Felix. Sylvain pulls himself off of Felix, who scoops Pixel into his arms with a sigh.

“You needy brat,” he mumbles, but Sylvain only smiles, pulling him and Pixel in for another hug. Pixel squirms and pushes at Sylvain with her paws, but eventually, she gives in and lets Sylvain hug her too.

 _I’ve always been glad that you adopted Pixel, but I’m happier now more than ever. She’s the one who brought you back to me._ Sylvain smiles and presses his lips against Pixel’s forehead.

He looks up and finds Felix watching him, something soft in his eyes. Sylvain chuckles. “Don’t worry, Fe. I have one for you too.” Sylvain presses a kiss to Felix’s forehead too.

“Idiot.” Felix reaches up with a hand and cups Sylvain’s chin, pulling him down. “Don’t half-ass it.” He merges their lips together.

“Love you,” Sylvain says. And he wants to say it to Felix over and over and over again. _I love you, I love you, God, do I love you._

“Love you too,” Felix responds. And he wants to say it back to Sylvain over and over and over again. _I love you, I love you too, God, do I love you too._


End file.
